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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685448">Heartburn, Headsick.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/chichee/pseuds/chichee'>chichee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Naruto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Slow Burn, slight AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:47:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/chichee/pseuds/chichee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaara needs a show of goodwill. Hinata has a death match scheduled for the title of heiress. The head, the heart and what lies in between. </p><p>This is how it begins.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gaara/Hyuuga Hinata</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heartburn, Headsick.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hinata was five years old when the Hyuuga council had deemed her a failure.</p>
<p>She had grown intimately familiar with the tatami mat; the firmness, the musky slipper smell when she was pushed against it. Hinata felt bruises forming as Neji-niisan crushed his knee down on her back. The rows of pale eyes stared back down at her, unblinking, all-seeing. Their displeasure was palpable. In the spirit of fairness, Neji hadn't even used his Byakugan though there were whispers his had activated for a year already. Somehow, that made it worse.</p>
<p>"Give up, Hinata-sama." He had growled against her ear.</p>
<p>"Neji-niisa-" She managed to gasp out, before being dealt a blow to her stomach.</p>
<p>Five sparring matches, and Neji had won every single one of them.</p>
<p>After, Hinata had bowed deeply before she half-walked, half-stumbled to the courtyard near her late mother's garden. There were camellias and morning glories in full bloom, but Hinata barely spared them a glance. Instead, she dropped to her knees near the lake and stared hard into her reflection. It stared back at her, Byakugan still unactivated. She couldn't understand why her chest felt tight; the feeling of getting smaller, and smaller.</p>
<p>
  <em>Give up, Hinata-sama</em>
</p>
<p>There was a time when Neji-niisan would play with her here, whispering jokes about uncle Kasumaru's frowny wrinkles when he wasn't looking (Neji could always tell when the elders weren't using their Byakugan-it was a secret how he did it.) He would poke her cheeks and call her Hinata-<em>hime</em>, and she would giggle back that she wasn't a <em>princess</em> and they would play and play until their yukata hems were dirty.</p>
<p>Nowadays, Neji-niisan looked at her the same way her father did.</p>
<p>"Hinata-sama" her tutor, Hiroshi called out. "The ceremony will begin in fifteen minutes, you must hurry."</p>
<p>Hinata wiped her eyes clumsily as she ran towards the main Hyuuga residence, taking care not to stain her kimono. She would be scolded if someone saw her crying now.</p>
<p>After all, it was her birthday.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Prologue:</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Things are as they are;</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>We suffer because we imagined</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>different</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>.</em> </strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>He killed someone for the first time yesterday.</p>
<p>Gaara's eyes were trained on the ball it was kicked around. The other children were from his academy- he had recently joined after his father had told him there was nothing left to teach him. He watched as a child skidded across the gravelly sand, yelping before scrambling back up for the ball. The Suna children were all a year older than him, brown-skinned and played rough, all with scabs and skinned knees. Gaara's own skin was smooth and pale, as if he had never seen Suna sunlight. As if he wasn't really there.</p>
<p>Gaara was six years old, but he was sharp. His jade green eyes followed the path of the ball as it was scrambled over. The purpose of the game was simple enough. He was sure he could manage it, Gaara reasoned to himself. He wouldn't even mind losing if that was what they wanted.</p>
<p>Kick.</p>
<p>The ball flew across the sand.</p>
<p>Kick.</p>
<p>"Over here!"</p>
<p>"No, Yoroshi that's too far, it's gonna-"</p>
<p>Kick-</p>
<p>The softball landed on the ridge of the cliff, metres above the children. No one knew how cliff climb yet. Gaara's sand automatically wrapped around the ball, carrying it down lazily until it plopped into his small hands.</p>
<p>The ball was an act of goodwill, he had reasoned to himself childishly, if they wanted to play, then they would have to do so with him. Fair trade.</p>
<p>Then he saw their eyes. The girl at the front took one step back. Then two.</p>
<p>"That's him!" one hissed.</p>
<p>"He killed his mother-"</p>
<p>"Shh Akemi, don't let him hear us!"</p>
<p>"Freak!" the girl yelled back, full of childish bravado. "Don't come close any closer!"</p>
<p>Gaara took one step forward- the children scampered away, one tripped on his own feet and yelped pathetically. He wanted to drag them back with his sand<em>- don't leave me don't leave me don't leave me</em>- but Yashamaru told him no, and Yashamaru was always right.</p>
<p><em>Poor little boy</em>, The voice in his head crooned. Gaara closed his eyes and dropped the ball. It landed with a soft, silent thud.</p>
<p>He killed someone for the first time yesterday. The man had hurled kunai at him; poison senbon, paper bombs- had made jutsu's so fast Gaara's eyes could barely follow his hands, but the sand had risen up, again and again and again. Gaara had screamed as the sand greedily absorbed his blood, sucking the corpse bone-dry. He had felt the voice in his head ease- just a little bit, realising with rising horror that it was s<em>atisfied</em>- before he threw up.</p>
<p>
  <em>Freak</em>
</p>
<p>He had killed someone yesterday.</p>
<p>
  <em>Don't come any closer</em>
</p>
<p>Gaara clutched his chest as his vision clouded over.</p>
<p>Somehow, this hurt more.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: As you can guess this is only the Prologue, un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own. All chapters after this will be much longer and much, much denser. Strap in for a wild ride boys and girls.</p><p>x. chichee</p></blockquote></div></div>
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